


Racing to the Sun

by PanBoleyn



Series: Made Our Way By Finding What Was Real [6]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, minor crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been doing this almost from the beginning. All this really is, is acknowledging it, acting on it consciously.</p>
<p>Or, how our favorite lawyers finally get a clue and stop dancing around each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Racing to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the get-together fic, finally! I'm planning some more snapshots to follow this, but I'm not sure when they'll be appearing.
> 
> Also, some internalized ableism in this fic; not sure if that requires a warning but putting one anyway.

It never got quite this hot in Boston. It’s been over a decade since Mike’s been through a New York City heatwave, and he’s pretty sure they’ve gotten worse. It’s probably global warming. Mike’s experienced worse heat overseas by now, but he’s forgotten how humidity makes it even less pleasant. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the air’s broken at the office. Which means tempers at work are as high as the thermostat, maybe even worse.

 

Down in the bullpen, the associates are keeping cool as best they can with desk fans and the little handheld fan gadgets. Mike has to hide a smile at the sight of Kyle drooping over his desk. Kyle’s from Vermont, so he’s having more trouble with the heat than most of them.

 

Hell, even Maria Monroe, Louis’ new associate that Mike and Isabel used to rib about being a robot back when they were at school together, looks a little wilted. Unlike most of the others it doesn’t look like she’s been slowed down even a little bit, but that’s hardly a surprise. Actually, Mike likes Maria; they had a standing deal back at Harvard that whoever beat out the other in classes they shared owed the other a drink, and the same deal’s already set for when Harvey and Louis inevitably pit them against each other, but Jesus Christ. “Are you even human?” Mike calls over to her, getting only an eyeroll in return. Success for the day, in his books.

 

For his part, Mike alternates between water and Red Bull instead of just Red Bull. The last thing he needs is to let himself get dehydrated, especially with his leg throwing out warning twinges. It’s one of those days where he should probably have his cane but he’s being stubborn about it.

 

He’s a little slower than usual in proofing the Carter briefs, but not enough for Harvey to call and complain, so he’s doing all right. When he’s done, he tucks everything back into the folder and heads carefully for the elevator. Damn leg just won’t ease up today.

 

When he gets to Donna’s desk, he can’t help but notice that she doesn’t look that worn down by the heat. Then again, up here they’ve got big floor fans going along with the desk kind - mostly of the expensive sort in both cases. She also has an iced coffee. “He’s not thrilled with you,” she warns Mike, looking mildly amused at the prospect of him being in trouble.

 

“No one’s thrilled with anyone today, Donna,” Mike says, knocking on Harvey’s door even as he walks in. He stops short just inside, though, staring. Pretty much everyone in the office is wearing as little as they can get away with - thin blouses and just-long-enough skirts for the women, jackets and often ties off for the men, sleeves rolled up. Mike only put his own tie on to come back up here, not bothering to roll his sleeves back down, but Harvey? He’s taken his jacket off as one concession to the heat, and his sleeves are rolled up a little, but his tie is still in place (slightly looser than usual at least, and Mike pretends that doesn't make him want to tug it off) and so is his vest.

 

Harvey looks up from his computer. “You have the Carter briefs - finally?”

 

“Yeah,” Mike says, dropping the file on Harvey’s desk. “Harvey. It is 98 degrees out, feels like 101, the air is broken, and you’re still in a vest. _I’m_ on the verge of melting here, and I spent over two years in Kabul. Are you even human?” Admittedly, if the heat wasn’t affecting Harvey at all, he’d still have his jacket on and tie perfectly tight, but… Also, his hairline is damp from sweat, enough to have his hair coming a little loose from all the gel. Mike tries not to notice, even as his mouth goes dry. He likes to think he's gotten pretty good at ignoring that sort of thing about Harvey, so he pretends his fingers don’t itch to run through Harvey’s hair and muss it up even more.

 

“Can’t take the heat?” Harvey’s voice cuts into Mike’s thoughts and Mike shakes himself mentally. Not a good time for this.

 

“No one can take the heat,” he points out to further distract himself. “Cubicle Town is gonna have associates melting into puddles like the Wicked Witch of the West if this keeps up.”

 

Harvey raises an eyebrow. “Cubicle Town? Really, Mike?”

 

“You have a better term?”

 

“It has a name - the bullpen.”

 

“I like mine better.”

 

That earns him an eyeroll, and Mike grins unrepentantly. Harvey sighs, shaking his head. “Go to the file room and look for precedents for the Malloy suit.”

 

“Oh, great, you’re sending me to the fires of Hell. Thanks, Harvey,” Mike says, and turns to go. He can’t help but wince when his weight lands a little wrong on his bad leg, though.

 

“Everything all right?” Of course, the only time Harvey deigns to be concerned is just when Mike doesn’t want him to be.

 

“Yeah, just a little stiff,” he lies, blandly, and continues on his way. By the time he gets to the file room he’s limping in earnest, and cursing his own stubbornness for not bringing his cane this morning. He sits down for a bit, massaging the muscles around his knee in hopes of loosening things up - it doesn’t seem to be all that helpful really.

 

Eventually, though, he has to get up again and actually look for the precedents he was sent down to find. As per usual when he wants things to be less difficult, the box he needs is on a higher shelf. He reaches up to tug it down and something shifts in the box, sending him off-balance as he tries to compensate. He lands hard on his left leg, pain shooting up his knee before it buckles. Mike goes down with a yelp, the side of his head glancing off a shelf as he falls.

 

***

 

Mike should have been back by now. Harvey can’t help but think about the kid’s smart-ass comments about the fires of Hell, and wonder just how hot it is in the file room. Surely he can’t have managed to get heatstroke from it? Not indoors?

 

Harvey tells himself he’s not concerned, he just wants to catch Mike slacking off because hassling him for that never gets old. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to tell anyone else that, though; he can’t even make it sound convincing in his own head. He ignores this, and makes his way down to the file room.

 

“Mike? Are you looking for the Holy Grail or something this time?” he calls when he pushes open the door and doesn’t see anyone. “Because I don’t think -” He stops talking abruptly at the sight of a foot sticking out from behind a shelf. He’d recognize Mike’s cheap shoes anywhere. Racing forward, Harvey finds himself staring at Mike sprawled out on the floor, and suddenly it’s like he can’t breathe. Mike looks - he -

 

And Harvey realizes something then, but he doesn’t have time to acknowledge it, forcing out, “Mike?” hoping like hell that…

 

Mike groans weakly, lifting a hand and waving it. “Remind me… to start carryin' my cane more.” His voice is strained and a little vague; when he gets closer Harvey can see a trickle of blood sliding down from Mike’s hair.

 

“What the hell did you do to yourself?” Harvey asks, dropping down next to him. Mike blinks up at him and his eyes are a little dazed.

 

“Went to grab a box, overbalanced and my leg gave out. Knocked my head on a shelf on the way down,” Mike says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He groans slightly, putting a hand to his head. “Oh, really, this is just stupid.”

 

“No, what’s stupid is you running around without that cane of yours when you obviously need it,” Harvey snaps, suddenly more than a little angry. He knows Mike’s stubborn as hell, and he’d have to be blind not to have noticed the other man downplays his injury when he shouldn’t, but this takes the cake.

 

“I was fine earlier, it’s just that sometimes -”

 

“Which is why you should carry it, because that can change.” Harvey’s own shoulder injury flares up only rarely, but he can wake up totally fine and in the middle of the day some movement sends pain spiking through his arm again. He figures Mike’s knee is the same, only worse.

 

“I’m not a _cripple_ , Harvey.”

 

Harvey fights the urge to point out that, by the exact definition, Mike kind of is. “I don’t care what you call yourself, you need that damn cane so this shit doesn’t happen.”

 

“I’m fine!” Mike snaps, and he actually moves to get up. Harvey’s on his feet immediately, expecting it when Mike sways a little, expecting it when his knee gives out yet again. He catches Mike under the arms, pushing him back into a chair.

 

“Oh, yeah, _fine_ , I can see that.” He doesn’t bother to keep the biting sarcasm out of his voice. “You need to get checked out. And don’t bother arguing with me,” he adds as he takes out his cell phone.

 

Mike argues anyway. "Harvey, come on, I don't need a damn ambulance, what the hell?"

 

"You have a head injury and you can't stand," Harvey tells him. Mike scowls.

 

"If that's all -" And the idiot actually tries to stand up again. Harvey's hands land on Mike's shoulders, pushing him down before he's really up.

 

"Stay down and shut the fuck up," Harvey snaps. Mike blinks at him, surprised enough by the sudden fury in Harvey's voice that he does just that. He actually looks a bit wounded, but Harvey can't allow himself to care.

 

After all, he only snapped because it was that or show that Mike's scared the shit out of him. It's that or risk the kid figuring out just why he's so spooked.

 

Damn it. He was supposed to get over Mike, not fall the rest of the way in love with him.

 

***

 

Mike’s out of work for the rest of the week, on the ER doctor’s advice. Doc Andrews, his usual doctor, also told him, in no uncertain terms, that he cannot go without the cane anymore, it’s just too risky. Mike hates it, but in the end he has to admit he really doesn’t want another file room incident. He won’t carry the grey hospital cane, though; he hates the sight of that even more than the idea of a cane at all.

 

Back when he was first working at going without the cane, Trevor bought him a green cane. It’s plastic - or it looks like plastic, anyway. Since it’s medically certified or whatever, maybe it’s made out of something fancier than that, but it looks like see-through green plastic to Mike. The bottom is capped in rubber so it doesn’t slide, and Mike’s wrapped soft black cloth over the handle because he just knows it’s going to chafe his hand otherwise.

 

If he has to use a cane - and he has to, he’s got no choice but to accept it now - at least he likes the look of the green one. That’s why Trevor bought it; he knew the funky look would appeal to Mike, and hoped that would encourage him to use it. Remembering that - remembering _Trevor_ \- still makes his throat hurt and his chest tight, though, so Mike tries to shove the thoughts aside. Point is, the green’s dark enough that it isn’t totally crazy - it’s something a young professional can just squeak by with.

 

It’s not a problem to juggle the cane on his commute to work - he’s used to that from the bad days before. What is a problem is feeling like everyone is staring at him. He knows better, but carrying the cane means he can't pretend he's walking normally, and he feels like people are mocking him for it behind his back. Or worse, they pity him.

 

He avoids Harvey all day - there's no actual need to drop by his office, after all. And Mike hates that Harvey of all people saw him that way in the file room - broken and helpless. So he stays at his desk and does the busy work that's cropped up in his absence.

 

He does the same thing on Tuesday, when he stumbles a little after his cane catches on the edge of the carpet and he sees Greg smirk. Mike tightens his hand on the cane handle, grits his teeth, and does not use his goddamned green stick to whack Greg over the head.

 

That afternoon, though, the busy work is done and Mike gets a text from Harvey telling him to come to the office at one. So Mike does as he's told, making his clunking way to Harvey's office.

 

(This is an exaggeration - his cane can't really clunk on carpet.)

 

Donna glares at him when he walks by her desk, and Mike's not sure why. He hasn't done anything - he texted Harvey to let him know he'd be out of work, it's not like he vanished, and he hasn't done anything to Donna either. Still, the look in her eyes makes him think he'd better not ask. He knocks on Harvey’s open door as he walks in.

 

He’s perched on the couch before Harvey so much as looks up. “So you’re alive.” He tosses Mike a folder, presumably their next case, then looks at the cane. “What’s with that?”

 

“I have to carry it now.” He almost says _Why? You think the clients won’t like a cripple working for them?_ but he doesn’t.

 

“I didn’t mean you carrying the cane - though it’s about damn time - I meant that it’s green. You have a regular one, I’ve seen it, so why are you carrying one that matches the Hulk?”

 

Mike blinks at him. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

 

“Well, I could ask you why you’ve been playing keepaway, but I was trying to be nice here. It doesn’t come easily to me, you should be grateful.”

 

“I… wasn’t,” Mike says, even though he was. “I was just catching up on the busy work that piled up while I was gone.” Even as he says it, he knows Harvey’s not fooled. The look he gets is enough to tell him so. “All right, fine. I just - it’s embarrassing, all right? No one’s supposed to see -” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I was being an idiot.”

 

“That much is obvious, Mike. What did you think, that I’d use it against you?” Mike may be imagining it, but he thinks Harvey might actually be hurt by that possibility. Definitely offended, at the least, and either way so far from the truth that he hurries to deny it.

 

“No, of course not! I know you better than that, Harvey.”

 

“Then what the hell is your problem?”

 

“I _hate_ it!” Mike explodes, suddenly furious. “I hate that there’s days I get out of bed and almost fall over, that people stare at me - I’m pretty sure I didn’t get one of the jobs I applied for because the guy didn’t want to hire a cripple. And more than anything I hate when people I - people that matter to me, see me like that, because it’s _pathetic_. _I'm_ pathetic.”

 

There’s a long moment of silence. Harvey’s watching him, Mike can feel it, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters, staring at his hands, at the Academy ring on his left hand and the old watch that used to he his dad’s on his wrist.

 

“Mike.” Something in Harvey’s voice gets Mike to look at him; the other man’s expression is oddly intent. “You’re not pathetic because you’ve got a bad leg. But damn it, kid, you could scare someone next time if you don’t take care of yourself, all right? And that includes carrying that thing. So if someone looks at you funny for it, they can go to hell.”

 

“I -”

 

“I know you love arguing with me, but don’t. Not about this. Just trust me on this one, Mike.”

 

Mike shakes his head. “Trust me, people will always look and see -”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“You’re the one who told me that first impressions last, in case you forgot. Remember the spiel about the rookie dinner?” Mike fires back, exasperated because isn’t this the same kind of thing? Isn’t he supposed to present an ‘image’ that a cane fucks with?

 

“That isn’t the same thing. Act like you don’t care that you’re carrying it, and that’ll change how other people see it. That’s the impression part, if you want to go there.” Harvey just keeps looking at him with that strange intensity, and Mike can't say anything at all for a minute.

 

"I wasn't even supposed to be in that convoy," he finally says. "But, someone else got sick, so... Yeah. And it's stupid; people died. I'm lucky. I just... Forget, sometimes."

 

"Mike..."

 

Mike shakes his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just dump that -"

 

" _Mike_. It's fine. And you're not stupid. If you were, I'd fire you." Harvey smirks at him, but it seems almost fond. Mike actually manages to laugh.

 

"Right. How could I forget? Speaking of, I have a job to do, right?"

 

"Yeah. Which includes not scaring the shit out of your boss, so keep ahold of that thing, all right?" Harvey starts talking about the case before Mike really processes what he's said, and by then it's too late to comment. And even if it wasn't, Mike isn't sure what he'd say.

 

***

 

A few weeks after that, Harvey has some kind of benefit, and he’s not the only one. Back when Mike was in Kabul, he got pretty close with one of the other guys at the base. Ethan Masters was their medic back in the day; here in Manhattan the ex-Army guy is one of a line of rich, prestigious doctors. On the bright side, it means that every year the Masters family hosts a benefit to support military families. On the not-so-bright side, it means a fancy shindig that Mike has to attend.

 

At least he gets to wear his old dress blues, and not a tuxedo. Mike's not entirely sure if he should - the rules on discharged officers wearing their uniforms is a little vague - but the Masterses think that people in uniform help encourage donation. So, instead of feeling stuffed into fancy clothes that don’t suit him, he feels like a show dog instead. Oh well, it’s all in a good cause.

 

Mike shifts awkwardly on his feet anyway.

 

“You too, huh? Damn Masters, gets me every year,” someone says behind him. Mike turns to find a guy he thinks he remembers from one of Ethan’s photos, older than Mike is, Latino, in an Army dress uniform. “Javier Esposito, I was with Ethan in basic,” he says, offering a hand.

 

“Mike Ross, I served with him in Kabul. You say you deal with this every year?”

 

Javier nods. “Yep. Could be worse, at least I’m not in a monkey suit, but I still hate this kind of thing unless I’m on the job.”

 

Mike leans against the wall, absently shifting his cane from hand to hand. “Oh? I hate these even more when I have to come for work, mostly because my work means having to schmooze people. I’m gonna guess that’s not your reason, though?”

 

“Nah, I only come to these things when there’s a crime in progress. I’m a homicide detective out of the 12th Precinct. You some kind of businessman?”

 

“Corporate lawyer. Figured if I ever got a case I couldn’t win, I’d rather be losing money than letting a criminal go free or someone innocent get locked up. But there’s a lot of boring as hell ass-kissing, unfortunately.” That had been Mike’s whole reason for not doing criminal law, and after seeing Harvey dealing with the whole mess over Cameron Dennis and Clifford Danner, he really, really doesn’t regret it. “And, well, JAG Corps was out, so...” he adds, waving at his leg.

 

They’re still talking when Mike glances around the room and almost chokes on the champagne he’d grabbed from a passing waiter. “You OK, man?” Javier asks, and Mike nods, clearing his throat.

 

“Fine, just - my boss is here. I mean, I knew he had a benefit tonight too, but… I didn’t think it was this one.” Mike glances Harvey’s way again, unable to keep himself from looking just a little too long. Where Mike always feels a little awkward in civilian formalwear, Harvey looks and acts like was born to wear a tuxedo. And, damn it, Mike’s used to Harvey in his three-piece suits by now; used to him and the effect he has on Mike. This is only the second time he’s seen the man in a tux, and, well… The surprise doesn’t help.

 

That, of course, is when Harvey looks Mike’s way, and his eyes go wide with the same surprise Mike feels. Harvey tilts his head slightly, a gesture Mike knows, so he makes his excuses to Javier and says he’ll look him up through Ethan sometime and heads over. “I didn’t realize this was the benefit you meant,” Mike says, hand too-tight on his cane handle.

 

“No, I guess not,” Harvey says. There’s something odd about his tone, about the look in his eyes as he takes in Mike’s uniform, but Mike can’t quite place it. “I see why you never bothered to buy a tux. Dress blues work for you.”

 

“Thanks. So, the Masters are old clients, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Jessica was the one who brought them in, actually, before she and Hardman took over the firm. I got them when she became managing partner and didn’t have time to have her own permanent set of clients. I’m guessing you must know Ethan, then? I’ve met him, but he doesn’t talk about - oh, wait, he was in Kabul for a while, wasn’t he?”

 

Mike nods. “He was the medic at our didn’t-actually-exist base,” he says with a wry smile. “So, you come to this thing every year?”

 

“Since they started it three years back. I take it you haven’t come before?”

 

“Nope, too busy in Boston.”

 

Mike’s about to say something else - what he isn’t sure - when a voice says, “Well, well, Lieutenant Ross. How are you?”

 

He finds he’s standing at attention even before he turns to face Major Andrews - but then, that is a typical response to one’s CO, even years later. “Major, hi,” he says with a smile. Andrews grins at him, saying, “I’ve been promoted, actually,”  then offers a hand to Harvey.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Mark Andrews. Masters and this one here used to be under my command.”

 

“Harvey Specter,” Harvey says, shaking Andrews’ hand and sounding as charming as ever, but Mike detects some sort of edge in his voice. He just can’t figure out what’s causing it. “Mike’s my associate these days.”

 

“Associate? Doing what?” Andrews says, looking between them skeptically. “No offense, Mr…. Specter, was it? I just have a hard time seeing Ross running in the tuxedo crowd.”

 

“Uh, corporate law,” Mike says before Harvey can - which is a good thing, considering Andrews bursts into laughter.

 

“You’re a lawyer? You? Christ, Spielberg, that’s one hell of a waste.” Andrews shakes his head, looking Mike over. “You know, I’ve got some friends in the intelligence community; you could do a lot more good if you let me hook you up with one of them.”

 

Mike is actually kind of stunned. Not at the offer - Andrews had known Mike wanted to go JAG, and thought that was a waste of his talents too, but since JAG was still military he hadn’t been quite as dismissive. But to so blatantly tell Mike he could do better, in front of Mike’s current boss no less, well… He’d never thought Andrews was tactless.

 

“Mike’s doing very well for himself, actually,” Harvey cuts in smoothly before Mike can speak, and there’s definitely an edge to his voice now, one obvious even to someone who doesn’t know him. Andrews definitely hears it, and shrugs. Mike jumps in before anyone can say anything else.

 

“I’m grateful, sir, but to be honest, I’ve put that behind me. I love my job.” True, most days, though what’s far more true is that he loves a specific person he works with. Even without that, Mike had always wanted law; his intelligence work had only ever been temporary in his mind, for all that he’d enjoyed it in its way.

 

“Well, if you ever change your mind, call me,” Andrews says, handing Mike a card and then he’s gone. Mike glances at Harvey, whose expression is closed off, almost cold.

 

“I’ve got to go say hello to Alan and Marjorie,” he says, referring to Ethan’s parents, and then he’s gone without another word.

 

Well. That certainly went just _perfectly_ , didn’t it.

 

***

 

They don’t cross paths for the rest of the night, but when Harvey goes to get a taxi, there Mike is in that damned uniform. Harvey would love to hate it, but Mike looks too good in it. Better than he did in a tux - in Harvey’s tux. Of course, that’s part of the problem. The uniform suits him, and that Andrews guy was going on about how it’s a waste for Mike to really want to stick with law, how he should go back to intelligence work. Trying to recruit him away from legal work, from being Harvey’s guy like he’s _supposed_ to be.

 

It’s possible that Harvey is a little drunk.

 

It’s also possible that he wants to do something rash.

 

“You don’t have Ray tonight?” Mike’s voice cuts through Harvey’s thoughts as he walks over to stand next to Harvey, leaning on his ridiculous green cane a bit.

 

“It’s his anniversary,” Harvey says absently.

 

“Harvey Specter the secret romantic. Who would have thought it?”

 

Harvey half turns so he’s facing Mike. The movement makes it clear how close they are - too close, really. It’s hardly the first time, but tonight Harvey’s mind is full of that bastard trying to steal Mike, and on the heels of that are the memories that he can’t see how he ever forgot, so clear are they now. Close cropped hair, blue eyes with a wickedly mischievous light to them. Heated makeouts in the back of a cab and falling in a tangled mess to the small bed Harvey had in his old loft.

 

It would be better now, he knows it. It would be more, it would matter, because what they are together matters.

 

And Harvey’s been very good about not thinking about the fact that he’s in love with his associate when Mike’s around. Until now, apparently, when Mike is right in front of him and he can’t stop thinking about it. Because he’d never realized until now that if Mike wants to leave, he can. He can do it easily. And Harvey can’t _stand_ it, can’t stand the idea of Mike slipping away without at least trying to make sure he won’t ever want to.

 

He steps closer, deliberately, and Mike gives him a quizzical look. “Harvey - ?” Before Mike can finish the question, Harvey reaches out, curling a hand around the back of Mike’s neck and tugging him into a kiss. There’s a moment when Mike doesn’t respond and Harvey almost pulls away, the rejection stinging more than he wants to admit. Then Mike makes a small sound and he drops his cane, the clatter of it on the sidewalk a faint noise in the background as one of Mike’s hands tangles in Harvey’s hair, the other gripping his lapel. Mike kisses him back like he’s been wanting this as much as Harvey has.

 

For a minute it’s perfect, everything Harvey wants, and then he feels Mike tense. He doesn’t know why, but he assumes it’s too much, too fast - Mike’s said before that he’s not looking to date anyone right now. _“When would I have the time?”_ he’d said. So Harvey draws back enough to murmur, “Just tonight, it only needs to be tonight.”

 

That, apparently, is the wrong thing to say, because Mike pulls away, his expression terrifyingly blank. Harvey’s never seen that look on his face before. Then Mike bends to pick up his cane, and when he straightens he’s smiling, a sad smile that’s even worse. “No, it really can’t be,” he says softly, “which is why I should never have done that, because I knew -” He breaks off abruptly and Harvey’s mind is spinning. Knew what, he wants to ask, knew what? Is Mike saying he knows Harvey was lying, that one night will never be enough but he’ll take it over nothing? Or is he saying that he wants more too?

 

He’s never this uncertain about what people mean, but right now his own feelings are too churned up to trust any read he gets on Mike. And before he can find the words, Mike’s gone, slipping into a cab with that smile still on his face.

 

What the hell just happened? More importantly, how the fuck does he fix it?

 

***

 

“Well, fuck,” Anya says, and Mike thinks that pretty much sums the whole mess up. He nods, then drops his head into his hands, and she continues, “So he just - he kisses you, and then he told you he wanted a one-night-stand?”

 

“He said, ‘Just tonight, it only has to be tonight’.” Mike lifts his head, wondering why Anya wanted to know Harvey’s exact words. He’s not going to forget them anytime soon; doubts he could even without his memory. Because just for a moment he’d hoped…

 

“That’s… Hmm. That’s a weird way of putting it.”

 

“Seriously?” He glares at her. “You’re going to -”

 

“I’m trying to figure out if things are as bad as you think they are, Spielberg, so shut up.” The use of that nickname for him, the one he’d picked up at the Academy (and Bianca had adopted, finding it hilarious) makes him shut up, because Anya rarely uses it. At least, it works for a moment anyway.

 

"Anya, you don't know Harvey and I do. So how are you supposed to know?"

 

"Because you're too close to the situation and I'm not. Look, I'm just saying. He's a dick regardless, but maybe if you'd confronted him, not left, you'd at least have the air clear now. Which would be more than you've got now." Anya shrugs, pouring them both tea. She hates coffee, but drinks so much chai Mike’s fairly sure she’s going to bleed it one of these days. The irony of her being married to a woman who runs a coffeehouse will never stop being funny - except that right now Mike can’t find much of anything funny.

 

“I’m pretty sure ‘just tonight’ is clear enough,” he says, pushing his cup around the table.

 

“‘Only has to be’ isn’t, though. It sounds like someone trying to talk someone into it by saying there’s no pressure, or at least it does to me.”

 

“Do you actually believe this bullshit, or are you just trying to make me feel better?” Mike finally drinks some of Anya’s damned chai, thinking it might wash the bitter taste out of his mouth. He’d rather have alcohol, but that’s one of the rules: no drinking when he’s upset, not even in company. It’s too bad, really; Anya isn’t all that Russian in anything but her first name, but she does have a nice supply of assorted vodkas. Getting blind drunk is really, really appealing right now.

 

But he can’t.

 

“A little of both,” Anya admits, toying with her own mug. “Look, I just think you should talk to him, find out for sure what’s going on here.”

 

Mike laughs, the sound painfully bitter. “Don’t you think I’ve made enough of a fool out of myself?”

 

***

 

The Skype call is supposed to just be their usual, but Marcus takes one look at Harvey and immediately knows something’s wrong, even via webcam. He demands to know what’s going on, and Harvey finds himself telling Marc everything. His growing fondness for Mike, remembering that one-night-stand, Mike’s fall, and what happened last night. “I don’t know what to do, Marc,” he admits, and normally he wouldn’t admit to feeling helpless like this, especially not to his baby brother, but he’s stuck. At least Marc won’t judge him.

 

“You must be upset, you’re using my nickname and not my full name,” Marc teases, before going serious again. “You really made a mess of things, huh?” he asks, not unsympathetically.

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“You might still be able to fix it?”

 

That gets Harvey’s attention. “How do you figure?” Usually, of course, he’d be confident in his ability to fix anything at all, but right now he sees that awful expression on Mike’s face every time he closes his eyes, and he can’t _think_.

 

“Well,” Marc begins, “you said you tried to tell him it only had to be one night ‘cause you thought you spooked him. Sounds to me like what you did is just convince him it was a whim, another one-off.”

 

“Yeah, I did work that out for myself. But he tensed up; what the hell was I supposed to think?”

 

“No, I don’t blame you, I might have thought the same thing, but judging from his reaction, your rep and the fact that you two have already had a one-night-stand, I’m gonna guess he was bracing himself for you to say, well, pretty much exactly what you said. I mean, I don’t know this Mike so I can’t be sure - if you work things out, though, I expect to meet him. Has to be someone special to win _you_ over, God knows.”

 

Harvey sighs. “Sure, assuming things get worked out. I have to do that first, and the only thing I can think of is to… show up at his door and try to explain.”

 

Marc raises his eyebrows. “And what’s so bad about that?”

 

Harvey rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? It’s desperate, and pathetic, and -”

 

“Simple? Straightforward? Harvey, if you can show up at this guy’s door to stuff him in a tux and go to Atlantic City, or get stoned together -”

 

“I was checking up on him, I didn’t plan to get high -”

 

“- you can go over for this,” Marc continues, like Harvey didn’t speak at all. “Seriously, Harvey. I’ve been married five years already; you could trust my judgment a little on this kind of thing, even if I am your baby brother.”

 

Harvey considers that. Maybe Marc’s right. And, anyway, it’s not like he’s got any better ideas.

 

***

 

It’s surreal, how much like the first time this is. Mike answers the door barefoot in track pants and an Air Force t-shirt; it’s just that this time, Harvey’s also in casual clothes and he’s not here on a whim. Far from it.

 

“You’re not the Chinese I ordered,” Mike says after a long, silent moment where they just kind of stare at each other.

 

Harvey considers making a joke, but decides against it. The last thing he wants is for Mike to think he’s messing around. “Can we talk? Away from the doorstep where anyone going into the coffeeshop can hear?” It’s unlikely that anyone going to The Java Joint will actually bother to listen, but this isn’t really the kind of conversation Harvey wants to have out in the open, anyway.

 

Mike studies him for a moment, then nods, moving aside to let Harvey pass. “What do you want, Harvey?” He sounds tired, resigned, and Harvey clenches his jaw. His hands move to adjust a suit jacket he’s not wearing, a nervous gesture he didn’t actually realize he has.

 

“We should sit down, this might take a while.”

 

Mike nods, and they settle on opposite ends of his couch. That isn’t that far apart - Mike’s couch is small - but it’s more deliberate space than they usually have, which makes it feel that much wider of a gap. “The other night -” Harvey begins, but Mike cuts him off.

 

“It won’t be a problem in the office. I’ve kept it under wraps until now,” he says, voice tight and spine straight like he’s facing a drill sergeant.

 

Harvey shakes his head. “That’s just it, Mike. It is a problem. I made a mistake -”

 

“I get it, Harvey. It was just fun, emotions are bad and -”

 

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Harvey snaps finally, exasperated. “Kissing you wasn’t the mistake, all right? I don’t regret that for a second. What I _regret_ is what I said, what that made you think.”

 

Harvey pauses, trying to collect himself before he loses it completely. Mike is watching him with an oddly young expression on his face, eyes filled with wary hope. But he doesn't say anything, so obviously waiting for Harvey to continue. So that's what Harvey does.

 

"I felt you tense up," he explains. “And I thought - ever since we talked to that Andrews guy, all I could think about was how easy it’d be for you to leave if you wanted. I never realized that before. And so… I assumed you tensed up because I was moving too fast. Which I was, because I was only thinking that I wanted to give you a reason not to leave.” It’s hard to be this honest, and Harvey wonders if Mike knows how hard it is. But he thinks Marc’s right; his brother has, after all, been married to the love of his life for five years now, so Harvey assumes his kid brother has something right about all this. He tries not to remember that he showed up on Zoe's doorstep too, a few months ago - different person, different circumstances, and he still doesn't want to think about the mix of disappointment, hurt, frustration, and an awful kind of relief that whole mess had left him feeling. He's here now; it'll work this time. At least, he hopes so.

 

Mike’s expression has gone unreadable - except for that wary hope, which hasn’t changed at all. “Harvey,” Mike says slowly. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, sure, Andrews was headhunting me, but I’m not interested. And I don’t really get what that has to do with you wanting another one night stand.”

 

He’s going to have to spell it out, isn’t he? Why does Mike choose now to misunderstand what Harvey’s implying when usually he’s much better at it? Or maybe he feels, like Harvey does, that this is too important to be wrong about. “I don’t want another one night stand, Mike. That’s the whole point.”

 

And some of the wariness is gone from Mike’s eyes, the hope stronger now, but all he says is, “What do you want?” And then, suddenly, Mike’s expression changes completely, eyes lit with fierce determination. “Because you say you don’t want me to go, but what you don’t get is that I can’t. I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

 

And now Harvey’s the one hoping, the one who has to ask, “Why?”

 

Mike smiles, wry and lopsided. “Because, you idiot, I’m in love with you, and if you were as good at reading people as you say, y-”

 

Harvey’s sure whatever Mike was going to say would have been some smart-assed comment, but he doesn’t give him the chance to say it. The couch is small enough that it’s easy to lean across the distance between them, one hand sliding up to card through Mike’s short hair as Harvey kisses him. This time the kiss is slow, easy, rather than desperate, but somehow all the more staggering. “Well, I love you too, you moron, why do you think I couldn’t stand you leaving?” he murmurs, drawing back just enough to say it.

 

Mike nips at Harvey’s lip, tipping himself back as his hands grip Harvey’s shoulders to pull him down with him. “Then why didn’t you say that in the first place, damn it?”

 

And it’s ridiculous, that they burst out laughing with their foreheads pressed together, close enough to breathe each other’s air. But that’s exactly what they do, and the laughter stays even when they start kissing again, soft, slow kisses as their hands skim over each other’s bodies, unhurried like there’s all the time in the world.

 

***

 

Mike wakes up the same way he usually does, from a jolt of pain in his knee. Sleeping means it’s immobile for too long, after all. Gritting his teeth, he carefully bends it, even as he squints against the sunlight coming in through a crack in his curtains. He really should just get blackout curtains or something, but he’s never gotten around to it.

 

He bends his knee again, goes to roll so he can reach his brace and pull it on - only to find himself tugged firmly back against someone’s chest. Some- Wait.

 

His half-asleep brain comes fully awake as Harvey mutters, “Too _early_ ,” his breath tickling Mike’s neck. His voice is rough with sleep and - is that a _Bronx accent_? Mike bites his lip to keep in the giddy laughter, remembering Harvey showing up at his door and the conversation - and other things - that had followed.

 

“I thought you’d be a morning person,” Mike says, unable to stop himself, and Harvey actually growls.

 

“Shut up, go back to sleep.” And Mike’s pretty sure Harvey takes his own advice on that score - he sounded barely awake in the first place - but Mike can’t. He tries, honestly he does, but falling back to sleep once he’s awake has always been something he’s not very good at. He turns onto his other side instead, careful both of his leg and not to wake Harvey. It's probably a little creepy, watching the other man sleep like this, but Mike's remembering the last time he caught Harvey sleeping, how it felt to realize he'd fallen for someone he couldn't have.

 

Mike studies Harvey for a moment, brushing a finger lightly along the side of his face, and thinks he’s never been so glad to be wrong in his life.

 

He wakes up again - when did he fall back to sleep? - to find that his head is no longer on a pillow. Pillows, after all, don't breathe, nor do they run long fingers through one's hair. "Are you petting me?" Mike mumbles, more amused than anything.

 

"Is that a problem?" Harvey asks, his voice a rumble to Mike, with his head on Harvey's chest the way it is.

 

"No," Mike says. “Just checking.” Pain shoots through his knee and Mike winces. “But I really do have to get up this time,” he says. Harvey’s hand drops and Mike sits up, biting the inside of his cheek as he reaches for his brace.

 

“Is this a problem every morning?” Harvey asks, and Mike’s been unconsciously preparing for some kind of negativity over the leg thing, even though he knows better it’s his instinct. But Harvey just sounds curious, maybe a little concerned. Mike’s glad; it’s not worth more than that.

 

“Mostly. Some days I have really good mornings, but they don’t happen much.” Mike tugs the brace on; it’s not that it helps, that much, though the compression does seem to a little, it’s that when he gets up it’ll be be easier if he already has the brace. “You want the shower first? I’d offer to share, but it’s really small and I don’t think we’d both fit.”

 

Harvey laughs. “You need a bigger apartment.”

 

“Hey! I like my apartment.”

 

“I’m sure you do. Yeah, all right.” He gets up and Mike assumes he’s just going to head for the bathroom, but then he turns on his heel, pulling Mike into a quick, firm kiss. Harvey draws back with a sly grin, and Mike can’t help but laugh as the other man walks away. Christ, they pretty much went from zero to a hundred in less than a full day, and it’s… Well. It’s kind of perfect, cheesy as that sounds. Mike knows it won’t stay like that - real life never does; there are always bad days as well as good - so fuck cheesiness, he’s going to enjoy the giddy high while he can.

 

He makes coffee and heats up a few of Bianca's muffins that he keeps in the freezer. By that point he hears the water shut off and a minute later Harvey calls "I'm stealing your clothes - though you're a damn toothpick so that won't be easy!"

 

Mike laughs, ducking into the bathroom himself. "Sweatpants should be fine, but try the Game of Thrones shirt - the one with the dragon on it. Jules bought it a little big for me."

 

"Who the hell is Jules?"

 

"Old roommate. Don't worry, she's not an ex, no need to be jealous." Mike's pretty sure he hears Harvey tell that he's not worried or jealous but the shower drowns him out. Mike grins and debates if Targaryen would actually be Harvey's House. Nah, he's more of a Tyrell, but Mike doesn't have that one yet. Or maybe a Lannister, but _Mike_ barely fits into his Lannister shirt, so that's a no-go.

 

Mike shuts off the water, dries off, and goes to get dressed himself before joining Harvey in the kitchen. “Can we get in trouble for this?” he asks, because it’s somehow easier to ask about frat regs - though in civilian life he knows they’re not usually called that - than to confirm out loud if this is a relationship or not. Which is pathetic, but true. Also, Mike didn’t read the relationship guidelines because, with the fact that his new boss was a former one-night-stand, it felt like he shouldn’t even know if a repeat was possible.

 

Harvey drains his coffee mug and refills it, apparently engrossed in the small action. Then he looks over at Mike, the corners of his mouth quirked slightly like he knows exactly what Mike is really asking. “If it were a problem, we’d find a loophole,” he says, answering Mike’s unasked question without needing to be specific. “As it happens, no, not really. There’s no specific rules on it - I think Jessica knows laying down too strict guidelines is, for this kind of thing, asking people to break them in secret. We’ll have to fill out a little paperwork since you work for me - confirm you’re not being coerced, basically. We can get that over with tomorrow, it won’t take long.”

 

“Christ, that’s embarrassing. Wait, tomorrow?”

 

Harvey shrugs, just a little too casual, Mike thinks. “Well, like I said, get it over with. Unless, of course -”

 

“Yeah, no, I agree. I’m just… floored at how fast this is all happening, that’s all. Although…” Mike nabs a muffin, taking a bite to give him a chance to collect his thoughts. And because letting one of Bianca’s spice cake muffins just sit is practically a criminal offense. “It really isn’t slow, is it?” he continues. Because, in all honesty, if he thinks back, he probably should have realized his feelings weren’t totally unrequited. The way they both always stand a little too close, look too long, have entire conversations without actually speaking… Maybe they’ve really been doing this all along, and isn’t that funny?

 

Harvey’s studying him, something like a fond smile on his lips. “No, I don’t really think it is, flyboy.” He nudges Mike’s good leg with a bare foot - and it’s kind of weirdly mind-blowing, isn’t it, that the pair of them are just sitting in Mike’s kitchen, in knockaround clothes and bare feet, on a Sunday morning like it’s the millionth time they’ve woken up like this and not the first. (And it is the first; even last time, they weren’t wrapped around each other and Mike left before Harvey woke up, because Bianca and Anya were waiting.)

 

But if they’ve been doing this all along, then maybe it’s not so mind-blowing, it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the pieces slotting into place. That’s how it feels, anyway, and if that’s the case, all they’re doing now is acknowledging it. “So, what? You had me at hello?” Which is a stupid thing to say - Mike doesn’t even like Jerry Maguire, but what the hell.

 

Harvey just stares at Mike for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. “Not quite, Dorothy, but we can go with that if you really want to.”

  
Not quite, Mike thinks, but close enough to be going on with. This is really going to be something, and he’s looking forward to every minute. Even the bad parts - he has a feeling they’ll just make the good all that much more worth it.


End file.
